Furthest South, heading North, going home. ...the Lowest Point...

....but only because we're sitting with a beer, looking down into it. We're camped tonight on the edge of the Sabkhat Tah, the bottom of which is 55 metres below sea level - the Lowest Point in Morocco.

It's a vast dry salt lake (is there any other kind?) and we've just driven around about half of it's southern and eastern edge. I've seen some pretty spectacular photos of vehicles parked on the "edge" which, when you get a bit of a sideways view, turn out to be parked on a 3 metre-thick sandstone "diving board" and 52 metres of fresh air. We decided we'd leave photos like that to the professionals, or the professionals with Photoshop, more likely. Walking around, we collected some relics of when this was a sea bed. A handful of ancient shells and coral, millions of years old....just lying about. Makes you think.....

So, time to bring you up to date with what's been happening over the last 3 days or so. Our last post was, I think, from Assa, in the "carpark". Since then we haven't seen a campsite that didn't have a view to sell your soul for, met some interesting people and been the subject of close and suspicious scrutiny by the national and local police.


Oh, and driven in some really remote places where the tracks aren't on any maps. It makes finding the way pretty easy when the ground's firm and the track straight. Good Fun! We've seen a lot of varied scenery - some of it a geologist would have dreams about.

We also had a first-hand close-up of some of the stuff you wouldn't want to drive over, and some that's the desert equivalent of a gravel driveway.

 We haven't see a PAYG campsite since Mhamid - whenever that was - I've lost track.

Unfortunately, too, we've been forced to drive a lot of tarmac. Some of the roads we were hoping would still be rough surface are now metalled, but we almost made it down to Smara- the Furthest South township, without using tarmac apart from the need to source repairs and food, fuel and the other necessaries of life. After all, this wasn't ever meant to be an exercise in proving anything. The final "off-road leg" from Assa to Smara didn't go exactly as planned. No, we didn't get lost, we just weren't where we wanted to be some of the time!

The track out of Labouirat (or El Bouirat on the signpost, south and a bit west of Assa by 90kms or so) was supposed to go SSW. We started out that way but the track gradually redirected us west, then northwest. There were no obvious forks, so we persisted for some time, assuming that as it was so well cut, the track probably would take us SSW to Hawza eventually. With maps at 1:1 million scale and features that are "approximate" at best or downright wrong (see previous on this), you have to live in hope sometimes. We considered making a break for it and using a compass bearing, but unless there's some definite features to fix yourself by, I'm not keen on just running on a bearing unless the terrain is flat enough to get a good idea of what's ahead. I once tried it in Belize and spent 3 days covering 500 metres - abseil down the side of the 30 metre gorge, walk 50 metres, climb the other side, walk another 50 metres...well, I guess you get the picture.
Anyway, after a night out in the G'NAFA (Great North African......) we eventually found ourselvess, via a huge hole in the ground and the old Front Line in the 1980's war, at M'Sied.

Crossing the old "front line" - from the "Bad" side to the "Good"

This really is The End of The Road or, in our case, the beginning of tarmac all the way to Tan Tan. TT was our "furthest South" last year and, then, we must've arrived on the equivalent of Sunday Afternoon. The place was dead apart from a couple of kids on pushbikes, trying their luck with some "Gimme Stylo" action. This time, it was different. The place was jumping like a box of frogs. The schools were just emptying for lunch, the town was buzzing and we felt as if we'd really arrived somewhere prosperous and upbeat.

Refuelled and provisioned we took the B-road (R101) south to Smara. Long, hot and boring, basically, but we'd painted ourselves into a corner by coming this far north and west; there really isn't any other way except, for a purist, driving on the old piste which lies a few metres to the side of the new road. Pointless. But we did it anyway, 'cos we wanted to!

We stopped to take the obligatory border photo as we crossed into Western Sahara, although where the border actually is, is debateable. We relied on the Garmin to decide.

 There really wasn't anything to mark it, we thought. Then, bending down and looking a little closer, there was lots of this stuff lying about:

50-cal and 7.62....quite a party!

Into Smara for fuel - and we're measuring what we put in very carefully now to avoid any overspill - messy and smelly. The hole is on the top of the tank near the back, so as long as it's not brimful we can control, to some degree, how much might leak out. Doesn't help much when we're rockin' and rollin' off the flat surfaces though. Oh, well, live with it! The pump attendant was filling the tank of a local taxi. No kidding, it took him a full 15 minutes to fill the tank. Not because it had the capacity of a Challenger tank, but because the driver wanted the car absolutely full. That meant - with the automatic shut-off on the pump, the stuff was being fed in by bloody teaspoon, effectively. Of course, when the pair of them got to the very last squeeze of the trigger, the final squirt went into the filler and straight out again, onto the ground and their shoes. To you and I, probably seen as inevitable. Here...Inshallah!

We beat it back into the desert again, not impressed with the locals at all. A generally surly bunch with the exception of the coppers at the checkpoints - all 4 of them. Checkpoints, that is. Two on the way in, two on the way out. All wanting the same information, all taking five minutes or so to absorb and record it. Still, just smile, nod a lot and play along. After all, could you do this all day in this place and still wish the tourists "Bon Voyage" with a smile?

It was still windy. In fact, the wind has been a major feature of the last few days. Blowing all day, it generally doesn't drop significantly until about 20:00 (8 pm) and sometimes not even then. We've spent quite a few nights during the last week being woken by the sound of the tent flapping about and sand hissing against the sides. Trying to find an analogy, I thought that if you can imagine yourself standing in the middle of a giant rotary clothes drier loaded with wet bedsheets, and a Force 10 blowing....not conducive to a peaceful night, particularly as the bed is rocking about like a raft in a storm as well. Trying to get out of the wind to do stuff like typing, (like now) or eat, (perhaps in a while) has required some rethinking. The table can be remounted in a variety of ways to get out of the draught, so here's another two.

Not that I'm very proud of this particular "machine for doing things on" or anything...but I might patent it or sell the design rights. If I see any more around as a result of this blog....I might ask a few questions.

And while I'm on the subject of typing, the sand is gradually getting into everything, including this keyboard. You won't have noticed that the spacebar often doesn't. Space, that is. I have to go back and laboriously put the spaces in later. I thoughtabout not bothering andmaking you do itmentally, but I'll just end up losing what little readership this blog stillhas, so I'll carry on doing it myself. Except for that bit. Harrumph.

 How's Daph? I hear you ask. Well, nothing else has fallen off, if that's what you mean. The fuel tank snag I've already mentioned, so enough about her smelly backside. The pretty decorations on the rear nearside wheel have been cured (hah! We'll see!) for the third time as previous "fixes" have proved merely temporary. This morning I took off the cracked cap and replaced it with one of the old ones, but with a plastic bag sandwitched between it and the hub. This seal - of sorts - appears to be working.



Having made our "destination", if you can call it that, we came north to Laayoune - a bustling town with a very modern feel about it. We were stopped twice on the way into town by the police. The checkpoints were within 100 metres of each other but clearly one lot of cops don't speak to the other lot (some in smart grey uniforms - the Gendarmerie Royale - and the other lot, dressed like a SWAT team in black denim and baseball caps.) We handed over the required paperwork and one check let us pass after five minutes of passing the time of day. The next one, within shouting distance, held us up for 15 minutes for no apparent reason. The same palaver occured on the way out of town. I wonder what mischief they thought we'd been up to in the intervening 15 minutes?

So, folks, that's you up to date as of 19:10hrs on 12 April, 2016. We can only get this exclusive and up-to-the-minute bulletin to you courtesy of Maroc Telecom, who have thoughtfully provided a comms mast. It's actually 17 miles away - I can just see it on the horizon -but it must be belting out about 20 Megawatts of 3G broadband to get us online at this distance. I pity the locals...mind you, they can probably fry their eggs by just holding them up to the window. Beslaama!